


all the boys (they were saying they were into it)

by brighter



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bars and Pubs, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Canon, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighter/pseuds/brighter
Summary: Nico shows up to the bar with a new dark-haired boy on his arm every night, and Percy wonders if he has a type.





	all the boys (they were saying they were into it)

**Author's Note:**

> I sure write about drinking for someone who has never drank in their life.
> 
> Thank you to [evilcarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilcarrot/pseuds/evilcarrot) for beta'ing.
> 
> The fic's title comes from "Kiwi" by Harry Styles, which has absolutely no relevance to the fic itself.

 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever become a bartender, but with the water powers, he was really good at it.

 

He dried dishes off, shook drinks, and poured shots all with his mind. Now that he'd gotten better at dodging monsters — or the monsters, perhaps, were less interested now that he wasn't the child of the prophecy — he hadn’t had much to do. When Annabeth had suggested _bartender_ , he figured “why not?”

 

His friends visited, of course. Annabeth and he had graciously parted ways after the primordial war, with her following the gods up the Empire State, making the blueprints for a civilization. But she was kind enough to never forget to visit her Seaweed Brain on his birthday to bake some shitty blue cupcakes together. Leo and Calypso had opened a garage nearby, and he had a running discount for their clients. Piper, ironically, had gotten into acting, and rarely had time for him, but occasionally name-dropped Poseidon's Poisons on television interviews with a wink.

 

Frank and Hazel had a quiet life in New Rome but often came to New York for old time’s sake. Meanwhile, Reyna had a loud one, acting as _praetor._ Grover and Juniper banded together as ecological activists, and always brought their protest members to the bar. Jason, funnily enough, worked with him, even though he didn't drink. Maybe he just liked the company. The only person who hadn’t visited him, even once, was Nico, who had disappeared after the war.

 

Percy clenched his fist at that, breaking the spine of a wine glass. Luckily, his Achilles curse kept his hand from bleeding. He wasn’t sure how many times he had to tell Nico he couldn’t just walk out of people’s lives like shadow travel, but he was very much willing to beat it into his skull.

 

If only he had the chance to.

 

* * *

 

It was a busy Friday night at Poseidon's Poisons. The air was thick with heat of too many bodies; faintly, Percy worried about building regulations. He was taking orders left and right, trying not to mix up substitutions. There was at least one girl who was outright flirting with him. A bar fight was about to break out between two men, who had been glaring at each other for the past few minutes silently. And Jason, of course, was nowhere to be found.

 

That was the exact moment Nico di Angelo decided to walk in, a dark-haired boy hanging off his arm.

 

As he approached the bar, the first thing Percy said was, “Nico di Angelo, you absolute asshole.”

 

And Nico, because he really was an asshole, had the nerve to brush him off.

 

“Could I get two beers, please?” he asked, and slid him a ten.

 

Percy fumed so hard that there was possibly actual steam coming off of him. It was disorienting and infuriating to have Nico back in his life without a moment’s consideration for how worried Percy had been. How worried they had _all_ been. But Nico was a customer, so he snatched the bill from the bartop and poured him two beers.

 

“So who in Hades is this?” he asked in a low tone when he came back with their drinks.

 

“Daniel,” Nico mouthed back, and threw down another two bucks. Then he disappeared into the crowd, date following him like a lost puppy.

 

 

* * *

 

Nico came in three more times that month, each time with a laughably similar, but different enough, dark-haired boy alongside him. Percy couldn’t get used to how different Nico was with these boys — nearly suave, with all the confidence of an old black-and-white movie star. There was something inexorable about him, a magnitude to his presence. For once, Nico looked exactly as powerful as he was, no longer the chatty kid with the Mythomagic cards.

 

Each time, Nico dodged conversation like an Apollo kid’s arrows.

 

“Who’s this one?” Percy asked casually, because he was somehow, insanely, getting used to his old friend bringing fuck buddies to his bar.

 

“Lee,” Nico grinned, throwing some quarters in the tip jar.

 

Percy scowled. Just because he was getting used to it didn’t mean he had to be happy about the entire affair. Nico still hadn’t explained the sudden return, the new attitude, and the virtual army of men he had brought in tow. A part of Percy pined for these answers, a little hurt, wondering, _was it really so easy for you to leave me?_

 

 _Us,_ he corrected, automatically.

 

“These boys all look the same to me.”

 

“Are you suggesting I have a type?”

 

“Maybe,” Percy said casually.

 

“Think on that,” said Nico over his shoulder, already returning to his partner, grabbing his hip intimately. It left Percy flummoxed, and, oddly, like he’d been flirted with. Percy watched as Nico dropped his head to kiss Lee, and felt vaguely sick.

 

* * *

 

Once, just once, Percy had a moment alone with Nico. He was resting his hand on the bartop, his entrance somehow having escaped Percy’s notice. Or maybe he had shadow travelled in. Percy wouldn't put the dramatics past him.

 

“Jackson,” Nico said, nodding coolly. He looked completely at ease, slouching slightly in the stool.

 

“No date tonight?” Percy asked. He tried for light affect to his voice, but it sounded nervous, even to him. In his hands, another wine glass was at risk of breaking.

 

“He's late,” Nico said. He checked his watch — _since when did Nico have a watch?_ A tattoo of a snake crawled up his bare arm. It reminded Percy of Medusa. He wouldn't have liked it at all, except for the way it caressed Nico's bicep, almost lovingly.

 

“Can I get you anything?”

 

“Whiskey. Neat.”

 

Percy poured a shot of whiskey straight out of the bottle and slid it towards Nico. Nico took it down in one gulp, and Percy traced the smooth line of his throat with his eyes, following the whiskey down.

 

“I missed you,” Percy offered, casually. “When you were gone, after the war.”

 

Nico did something strange with his face then: his lips twitched in a grin. A hot red flush graced Nico’s ears.

 

“I missed you, too,” he whispered, like a secret. For a moment, the noises of the bar dulled around Percy. It was just the two of them, and Percy found himself leaning closer. Nico smelled like oak wood and spring flowers, surprising Percy once again.

 

Then Nico stood up, waving a hand up to his date, who looked exactly like the rest.

 

 

* * *

 

After three months of this madness, Percy finally snapped. Nico had stopped by the bar nearly every week, all low chuckles and sidestepped conversations, and Percy was downright sick of it. Too many times now, Nico had crowded him up against the bar, intoxicating Percy with that scent of his — was that _cologne? —_ reeling him in deeper. Percy couldn't make sense of it, that moody boy with the hair in his eyes.

 

“He’s ruining my life,” Percy said to Jason in his apartment. “I wish he never came back.”  


“You don’t mean that,” Jason said. He smiled, pleased with himself, and added: “Things will make sense it time.”

 

That was the other thing. Jason was acting annoyingly cryptic on the matter. He was almost always overconfident, but this time was different. It was like he knew something Percy didn’t, and Percy hated the feeling that someone knew Nico better than him. He didn’t pause to think about why.

 

“What in Hades do you mean, Jason?”

 

“I’m saying — what’s so annoying to you about Nico having sex? You some sort of homophobe?” Jason said, taking a moment to give Percy a faux-contemplative look.

 

“It’s not _that,”_ Percy insisted, gritting his teeth, “it’s that they all look the same! Why do they all look the same?”

 

He was growing increasingly frustrated. Percy realized he was clutching Jason’s cloud-shaped pillow in his hands. He threw it across the room.

 

“Whoa, whoa, no need to be violent to my pillows. Okay, what do these boys have in common?”

 

Percy sighed, “they’re all — male. They all have dark hair. And light eyes. They’re all tall, but not too tall. They’re all lanky, and kind of muscular.”

 

Jason smirked. He was looking so satisfied, it made Percy want to punch him. But he’d done that enough in their first few months of business together. Besides, Percy had come to find out Jason didn’t look good with bruises.

 

“Does that remind you of anyone?” he asked.

 

A look of realization dawned on Percy’s face. He wanted to run to Nico’s house, except he had no idea where he lived, or if he lived in New York at all. Percy groaned and retrieved the cloud pillow to throw it again.

 

 

* * *

 

In the time without Nico, Percy did a lot of thinking. Sometimes, he'd see a customer with a head of dark hair and think _could it be —?_ only to have the customer turn around, nose all wrong or eyes too bright. Other times, he'd be walking down the street and hear a familiar baritone voice — always sleep-groggy, deepened with age — but look and find no one there.

 

At night, he'd turn restless in bed, willing Nico to shadow travel into his room, so he could grab him and kiss him and _wait_ , what in the gods was he thinking? Why couldn't he stop contemplating the jutted vein in Nico's neck when he got too excited about something, or the darkened way Nico looked at his dates? It was madness, but he found himself having to take a cold shower, decidedly _not_ recalling Nico's low voice in his ear, asking him to “think on that.”

 

Sometimes, Percy gave in anyway, letting the thoughts overtake him like a flood. He would come panting, thoughts racing with nothing but Nico, Nico, Nico. His large hands, fingers long, how he twisted his skull ring when he was nervous. That cocky way he walked into the bar, looking nothing like the ten-year-old boy who asked Percy where his sister was. It felt a lot like being smothered, and Percy, for a nonsensical second, wondered where all the air had gone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

It was early morning — too late for bar-hopping, but Percy was still stuck cleaning the place — when Nico showed up. They weren’t even open, but Nico appeared anyway, looking worn from the shadow travel. That was one way, Percy supposed, to bypass the security system. Idly, he wondered if there were any security measures that Nico _couldn’t_ surpass, and wanted to suggest a life of crime to him.

 

Percy shook the thought off, and started with, “you asshole.”

 

Nico chuckled, “that greeting sounds familiar.”

 

“No, you —” Percy pulled off his half apron, and jumped across the bar, which was mercifully clear of drinks, “you _absolute asshole_ —”

 

He was walking intently towards Nico now, eyes locked on his. Nico, damn him, looked aroused. Percy grabbed Nico by the shirt collar and kissed him. It was rough, messy, and all teeth, but Percy found himself intoxicated by it anyway. Nico tasted of cheap beer and an ineffable, heady sweetness that nearly had Percy swooning.

 

What Percy wasn’t ready for was Nico kissing _back._ Which, in retrospect, was kind of foolish. Nico kissed back softly, both hands gently cradling Percy’s jawline. He kissed Percy with his lips gentle as a sigh. This, Percy realized dizzyingly, was the kind of kiss people gave when they were deeply, relentlessly in love. The thought was enough to stagger him back against the bar stand, knocking into a stool.

 

“You’re in love with me,” he accused, half-joking.

 

But Nico didn’t cower, with all the confidence of a man who had just been thoroughly kissed.

 

“Only since I was ten,” Nico shrugged, then pushed Percy back onto the stool.

 

And then it was Percy’s turn to crane his head up to kiss him, Nico’s fingers delicately guiding his chin towards his mouth. Percy understood, suddenly, what it was like to kiss a child of death — for once in his life, he felt like he could drown. Percy was _wasted_ on this kiss, and, distractedly, thought the bar setting was appropriate. He was glad he was sitting down, because this kiss could have capsized him with its sheer force.

 

When Nico pulled away, he said, simply: “I always thought you’d taste like seawater.”

 

Percy couldn’t help but laugh at the non-sequitur.

 

“And do I?”

 

“Exactly like it,” Nico said, and leaned in again.

 

 

* * *

 

By the time they stumbled back to his apartment, it was three a.m. and Percy was so worked up he felt like he could run ten miles. Nico had spent the entire subway ride there kissing Percy’s neck, leaving marks that would certainly bruise by morning. Truth be told, Percy wasn’t thinking much about morning. On the walk home, Percy had taken it upon himself to hold Nico’s hand, half-heartedly feigning annoyance when Nico pulled him into some alleyway and kissed him senseless.

 

“Not here,” Percy had said, preventing Nico from going on his knees. It had taken the last of his dwindling resolve to deny him.

 

Percy unlocked the door, only to find the lights on and Jason Grace himself sitting on the couch. He stared openly at the hickeys on Percy’s neck and the flush high on Nico’s cheeks before coming to his own conclusions.

 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Percy tried, at the same time as Nico said, “fuck off, Grace.”

 

“All right, all right,” Jason said, still grinning, and made himself scarce.

 

Percy shouted, “I want my keys back, you dick!” down the hallway at him.

 

Then he turned to Nico, whose lips were swollen and hair was mussed and thought, _Gods, what must I look like._

 

“We should talk about this, you know,” Percy said.

 

“But that’s no fun,” said Nico, and tossed his shirt over his shoulder on the way to Percy’s bedroom.

 

 

* * *

 

Percy wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but this was a story worth telling: Nico, pale limbs splayed over his bedsheets, writhing for touch —

 

Nico, tracing over Percy’s scars, right over his Achilles’ heel, making him shiver —

 

Nico, kiss drunk, pressing his lips to Percy’s again and again and again —

 

Nico, hips arcing as Percy sucked him off, begging for more —

 

Nico, whispering his name on repeat, like a mantra, like pleading with the gods —

 

Percy, kissing him on his sweaty forehead just as Nico closed his eyes to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

Nico was gone in the morning, because that was what Nico did.

 

Percy sighed at the rumpled sheets beside him, which had no sympathy. When he looked around, he discovered that Nico had left his belt, along with a set of angry red crescents across Percy’s back. He sagged back into his bed, limbs weary and love-tired. Only an insistent phone ringtone woke him up.

 

“What,” said Percy, once he read “Jason Grace” flashing across his screen.

 

“It’s one p.m. you know, you don’t get to be mad at me for waking you up just because you were fucking di Angelo into the late hours of the night.”

 

“He’s gone,” Percy said.

 

“Oh. I’ll be over with ice cream in ten,” said Jason, and for a moment, Percy was absurdly grateful to have him for a friend.

 

 

* * *

 

He wanted to call Nico, but he realized he didn’t have his number. Or his address.

 

So instead he lay in misery in bed for a few days, letting Jason take his shifts. It was a melancholy business, being heartbroken. He spent his time flipping through phone books or walking through the city hoping to stumble into Nico. He stayed out until the city grew cold with darkness, forcing him to tug his jacket closer. Percy eyed every shadow with suspicion, willing it to reveal a scraggly boy with a foul mouth. But the shadows stayed still as statues.

 

Occasionally, he would sit on a bench in Central Park, watching the couples stroll past him, hating them for it. The wind whipped in his hair as he dug his nails deep into his palm, forming crescent indentations. He didn’t feel the sting of it.

 

The gods liked to remind him his weakness was loyalty. It followed, then, that he was painfully afraid of being alone.

 

Percy remembered all the times he would sit in Camp Half-Blood, surrounded by friends, and suddenly felt like a ghost in his own body: desperately, clawingly lonely. How he would close his eyes on clandestine nights with Annabeth on the _Argo II_ , holding to her tight and unsure (despite everything) if she’d be there in the morning. He remembered the sick sense of abandonment that rose in him when he had been claimed by his father, wondering, _where were you?_ and _why now?_

 

Then he realized, he was Percy Jackson: he had survived the Titan War, Tartarus, and Gaia. Surely, he could survive this.

 

“Glad to have you back,” Jason said, patting him on the shoulder. If Percy’s eyes were more bloodshot than usual, Jason didn't mention it.

 

So Percy made conversation with regulars, mixed drinks, and mopped the bar floor. He played video games and scrolled through the Internet. He called Annabeth, hung out with Jason and Grover, and most importantly, did not think about Nico at all.

 

Well, except.

 

“Why do you think he left?” he asked Annabeth, for the third time that week.

 

“It's Nico,” Annabeth said, sounding a little like she was underwater, grasping the phone amidst the waves. “He doesn't do things by halves.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying, he said he loved you, right? Did he mean it?”

 

It sent Percy's head spinning. _Only since I was ten,_ Nico had said, nonchalant as ever. He was so difficult to read, like the Labyrinth, all twists and turns and half-smirks in the dark. Percy had never considered that he might have meant it — except for that kiss, delicate as gossamer, and suddenly, everything was clicking into place.

 

“It was a confession,” Percy said, sucking in a breath. “And having sex with him after that — not even _acknowledging_ it —”

 

“I always knew your head was full of kelp,” Annabeth said, a deep affection in her voice.

 

 

* * *

 

And that was the story of how Percy found himself standing back at the Door of Orpheus that night, twirling Riptide in its pen form nervously between the fingers of his right hand. You didn't just enter the Underworld for a date. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Percy was about to do.

 

“About time!” he said when Grover showed up. Grover was wearing a tie-dyed “Give Peace a Chance” t-shirt and an awkwardly fitting pair of jeans. He cradled a set of reed pipes — his weapon of choice.

 

“I had to put on pants for this, you shut up.”

 

Then Grover played a truly awful rendition of _All Star_ , just to rub it in Percy's face. But Percy couldn't complain, because the boulders revealed that familiar triangle crevice that filled him with dread after only a minute.

 

“Well, good luck with _that,_ ” said Grover, “but I think I'm going to go back to my safe home. With my normal girlfriend.” His _r_ turned into a soft bleat.

 

“Your girlfriend is a tree,” muttered Percy, but he had already ceded the case. Grover was right not to follow him. No one sane would. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. See you at the bar.”

 

“If you come back,” Grover said, which earned him a soft shove.

 

Percy peered reluctantly down at the dark steps. Then he resolutely took a step forward and plunged into the black.

 

 

* * *

 

The unforgettable sound of the River Styx gushed, and Percy was never more relieved to be in the Underworld. The journey down was somehow longer than he had remembered, clocking in at over an hour. All he had had was the steely light glinting off his sword to guide him through the darkness.

 

Cerberus must have smelled Nico or something on him, because he let him pass without comment. Percy didn't risk a friendly scratch behind his ears.

 

He hadn't been down here since he was a kid. It was unnerving, walking around; he had changed, but death hadn’t. Like always, rows upon rows of dead people waited in line for judgment.

 

Percy didn't even have to bargain with the guards standing outside the black gates, which deeply unnerved him. They simply let him phase through them into the Fields of Asphodel. Shapeless grey figures ambled around him with no destination in mind. For a moment, Percy sunk into the feeling of hopelessness. Then he shook it off, determined.

 

When he reached the Furies, he didn't protest. He simply let Mrs. Dodds pick him up and deposit him into Hades’ palace.

 

“You've really made a mess of things, honey,” she said. If Mrs. Dodds was being sympathetic towards him, he knew he had truly screwed up. “Hades has been waiting for you for quite some time now.”

 

 

* * *

 

The room struck him again as macabre and beautiful. There were glittering gems everywhere, but there were also skulls of all sorts. Some were from animals Percy was pretty sure were extinct. The entire room was shimmering with gold. It almost made his eyes hurt. Sickly white trees towered above them, seemingly stretching into infinity.

 

Hades was already sitting in his golden throne when he arrived. His skin was sickly pale, and he wore a somber expression on his face, with a sharp undercurrent of anger. Percy realized, nauseatingly, why he had been brought here. Persephone sat beside him in her matching silver throne. Her elegant dress bloomed with a sundry of flowers that he couldn’t name but knew were beautiful. Percy supposed Demeter was busy making cereal. He bowed.

 

“My lord and lady —” he pled, trying to prevent disaster.

 

“Cease,” Hades said, voice booming with power. In his realm, you could not forget Hades controlled life and death. “You broke my son's heart. You are lucky that I do not smite you where you stand.”

 

He raised his hand as if considering it. Persephone gave him a sympathetic look, like “sorry you're about to die!” Percy winced and uttered a quick prayer to Poseidon. _Spare me from your brother._ Then Nico shadow-travelled in, stumbling in front of the throne.

 

“Father,” he said weakly, and a part of Percy was _delighted_ , just to hear his voice again, just to see him. “It wasn't his fault. He didn't know.”

 

“That gives him no right to hurt a son of mine. Some hero he is —”

 

“Father, please,” Nico said sharply, the patience in his voice wearing thin, “This isn’t your business —”

 

At the same time, Percy said, “Nico, I'm so sorry,” ignoring the colossal god and goddess in front of them. “You're in love with me. I understand that now. And I think — I think I could be falling in love with you too.”

 

Nico finally turned to face him, mouth agape. He had deeper bags than ever, and a pillow crease on his left cheek. He looked like the most attractive thing Percy had ever seen. Percy wanted to hold his face and kiss him.

 

So Percy did what he did best: something incredibly stupid. He did.

 

 

 

* * *

 

In the Land of the Dead, kissing Nico was like life. It was flowers blooming and birds chirping and all things good in this world. Nico was warm underneath his palms, and it sent a thrill of excitement through Percy. Nico. Alive. _Here._

 

Nico kissed him back, pressing into him as if he couldn't help it. He parted his lips, and the kiss deepened. A part of Percy was downright giddy. He wanted nothing more than to scoop Nico up and take him back to bed. It might have continued happily like that had Hades not interrupted, “ahem.”

 

Percy pulled away, looking into Nico's eyes, which were wide with adrenaline. He let his hands fall away from Nico's face but kept a possessive arm around his shoulder. He wasn't letting Nico go again.

 

“While that was quite the show of affection —” Hades started harshly, and then Persephone added, “it _was_ , wasn't it? Don't you remember being young and in love, dear?

 

Hades then looked at her in a way Percy didn't think it was possible for Hades to look at anyone. It was almost...loving. Percy realized, astonished, that this was the second time Persephone had saved his life. Beside him, Nico was gagging.

 

“I suppose I do,” said Hades, tearing his eyes away. His gaze was softer. Then: “Treat him well, Percy Jackson. Never forget that he is my son.”

 

Percy grinned, risking a glance at Nico. He looked truly the Ghost King here, his face pale and gaunt with shadows, his aviator jacket dark and worn and overlarge on his skinny frame. He was glowering at his father. Percy suddenly remembered all the times he saw Nico raise the dead: a legion of skeletons obeying the flick of his wrist.

 

“It's hard to, sir.”

 

 

* * *

 

Percy was already dreading the walk back up the stairs when Nico grabbed his hand hastily. Then, they were back in Percy's bedroom. It was just as dark as the Underworld, but not nearly as grand — walls bare save for the posters of old rock bands and bed unmade.

 

“That's incredible every time,” Percy said, only for Nico to plop himself unceremoniously on his bed, face down. He was exhausted.

 

“Come here, you idiot,” Nico said into the pillow. There was no malice to it, even a hint of fondness. So Percy peeled off his shirt and curled up next to Nico like a comma, keeping him safe.

 

“I didn't tell you to take your gods-damned shirt off,” said Nico, warily opening an eye. “You're getting ahead of yourself.”

 

“Am I?” asked Percy, daring to sneak a hand past Nico's jacket, up his shirt. His back was firm and surprisingly warm against Percy's hand. Beneath him, Nico shivered.

 

Nico turned to face him. In the dimness of his apartment, illuminated only by the city lights through his window, he looked softer. More vulnerable. Unthinkingly, Percy thumbed his lip.

 

“You're pushing it, Percy,” he said, but he was already closing his eyes, already letting himself be drawn in. In the kiss, Percy tried to inject a lifetime of apologies. With the tilt of his head: _I'm sorry, I didn't know._ The gentle caress of his hand on Nico's face: _I've been thinking you're brilliant this entire time, and I didn't even realize it, and I'm so sorry I didn't tell you._

 

It was a tender, unhurried kiss. Percy savoured the pleased half-moans Nico made into his mouth. It brought a funny ache into Percy's chest, the intimacy of it: two boys, delirious with love, pressing their mouths together to try to explain it.

 

Nico's lips were soft against his. Percy gently nibbled on Nico's bottom lip. He kept his hand swirling slow circles on Nico's back. Percy could have spent a century like this. But Nico gently pushed him away, an impossibly deep affinity in his eyes.

 

“So. You said you were falling in love with me,” Nico started.

 

“Fallen,” Percy said, deciding just then. “I've fallen in love with you.”

 

Nico smiled, and it cracked over his face like the sun.

 

 

* * *

 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever become a bartender, but with the water powers, he was really good at it.

 

It impressed Nico, even. Percy couldn’t believe that his cheap trick of streaming the beer from the bottle into the glass got Nico excited at all, but he was childishly enthusiastic.

 

“Now put it back,” Nico said, leaning over the counter. His eyes shone.

 

Percy acquiesced, earning him a surprisingly genuine round of applause. He smiled at Nico from across the bar top. His hair had been cut smartly, and his features more defined, but it was still unequivocally his Nico. Nico smiled right back at him, looking as lovesick as Percy felt. He wondered what they must appear as, through the Mist — perhaps Percy was juggling. Surely, they seemed just as besotted.

 

The bar hummed around him, alive with the usual sort that came to a bar on a weekday night. But no one was ordering, so for a blissful moment, it was just him and Nico. Jason, of course, saw it fit to interrupt.

 

“Oi lovebirds, some of us are working,” he said. Then he winked, surreptitiously whispering in Percy’s ear: “I think it’s cute.” When Jason pulled away, he glared warningly at Nico.

 

Nico shrugged unaffectedly. In the honeymoon of their relationship, nothing could bring them down. It was all lazy Sundays in bed and burning pancakes and slow dancing to songs in Percy’s cramped living room, bumping into the television. It was a good life.

 

Percy looked around the bar, then chanced a kiss, dipping down to meet Nico’s mouth. Nico’s lips were stiff with surprise, but Percy liked keeping him on his toes. Then, like always, Nico inclined his head, and kissed him back rather soundly. Percy loved the warmth of his mouth. He figured, given the chance, he could lose himself in it a thousand thousand times.

 

He pulled back to look at Nico, and hoped he had plenty of chances.

**Author's Note:**

> So. I read House of Hades, and, after loyally shipping Percy/Annabeth for nearly a decade, Percy/Nico came along and decided to fuck me up something proper. I'm currently writing a couple other fics for Percy/Nico right now, so if you'd like to beta, please leave a comment! It would mean so much.
> 
> And if you _wouldn't_ like to beta, leave a comment anyway. Reviews make make me smile.


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